Seasons
At the Well
Click for meditationRegarding "At the Well"
At anytime and anywhere can
Be found relief, especially relief from
Our very selves, or relief from
What is going on around us — the
General cacophony of noise
In the guise of supposed sound —
And at the moment of this
Writing, the incredible
Crescendo of Covid-19 and
Politics, all mind numbing and
Soul deadening, unless
For a moment we can “see”
The natural world which
In its glory is still unfolding
Around us, and which is
Oblivious and immune to the
Fury which humanity
Wreaks and manifests…
In my rock garden, the
Faces of three flower petals –
Petunia, marigold, and
Daisy – descendants of
Descendants of descendants,
Living proof that not all
Life has to bow before the
Obscene, and definitely sufficient
To halt me in my tracks
As I browsed amongst my
Flower beds, already working to
Ready them for next spring,
Sadly like an automaton in my
Actions, and almost missing
Their three faces, reminding me
That fall was not yet
A memory…
Leo Carroll
October 12, 2020
Their faces circle
Faster and faster before me,
Autumn’s smile to
Slacken my thirst, whirring as
If inviting me to cross
Their threshold,
Their door wide-open,
My knees pressed to the leaves,
Their roots in the
Universe, my countenance
Inching closer, my
Mind in glorious blur…
Robin’s Leaf
Click for meditationRegarding "Robin’s Leaf"
I am always amazed
By the seemingly little things
Occurring in creation!
I am usually caught off
Guard by them because of being
Absorbed in my own life…
But in this poem, a robin reminds
Me of nature’s nuances!
Recently, my car was
Parked under the shade of a
Small cherry tree, and
As I walked towards it to
Open the driver’s side door,
There was a tremendous
Rush of commotion
Above me as a robin bolted
From out the midst of
The tree! I had disturbed it,
And it let me know
As it flew away, upset
And squawking…
So quick was its departure
From the tree that it
Dislodged a leaf near where
It had been perched.
So as I stared after and
Tried to follow the
Robin’s flight, the little
Leaf was the only witness left
Behind…! And then in
Realization it came to me that
The leaf had spent its
Whole life waiting to be
The robin’s companion in
The cherry tree, and in
A simple wink of time I had
Eviscerated its interlude
Of accomplishment
And peace…leaving the
Little leaf to float by me to the
Ground, and the robin,
Safely ensconced somewhere
Close by, mourning the leaf now
Splayed at my feet…
Leo Carroll
July 13, 2020
Startling me as much
As I startled it, a robin bursts from
A wee cherry tree, and with its
Fleeing voice delivers me a
Stark missive…tempered, that is,
By the flight of a slowly
Floating cherry leaf, its preciousness
Dislodged when the avian
Abruptly abandoned its Sunday
Morning seat!
New Wine
Click for meditationRegarding "New Wine"
In the Gospels, Jesus
Teaches His followers about
A transformative and revolutionary
Way to renew their spiritual
Lives — to “love thy neighbor as thyself,”
And in so doing to gently satisfy
The letter of the Law.
Jesus taught a liberating
Theology of how to
Live a good life, and when
Questioned He told the
Famous parable about the
Good Samaritan, to clarify the
Meaning of the word, “neighbor,” i.e.,
Anyone we encounter along
The pathway of life.
Jesus said that to accept
This new teaching would be to
Take on His “yoke,” which He
Metaphorically visualized
As a burden “light.”
All we had to do was to
Relate to our neighbors as if
They were a manifestation
Of ourselves, and to treat them
The very same way we
Would like to be treated.
And thus, the Gospels outline
A soothing yoke to be put
Upon the fragile shoulders
Of humanity – just like
Newly fallen snow kissing the
Faces of pansies in an
Easter Week planter,
Beauty upon beauty, Love
Upon love, Divinity upon divinity,
And Creation upon creation.
Leo Carroll
June 29, 2020
New Wine
And so was heard,
“The yoke I give you is easy, and
The load I will put upon
You is light,” and across the
Waters and continents
Blew the Word, and at that
Moment the pansies
Knew by the new-fallen
Snow they would not be hurt…
And so they confidently looked up –
Easter petals lain up’n by an
Overnight, fresh snow –
Beauty gently placed
Up’n beauty, Love up’n love,
Divinity up’n divinity, and
Snowflakes up’n pansies from
Heav’n to earth bestowed.
New Wineskins
After the snow
Came the beauty, but I never
Expected it would be in
The form of words…But rather just
The honor of fulfilling duty,
But not the Balm of Gilead to
Assuage the hurt…
Blue Poppy
Click for meditationRegarding "Blue Poppy"
O’ how almighty science
And religion have grappled with the
Creation story of how we have
Come to be…but still the universe remains so
Unexplainable, so unimaginable, for
Our mere minds to grasp or comprehend
Or amongst ourselves agree…
I wonder about this, have daydreamed of it while lying in
A field of milkweed pod in Maine, or staring out
At some incoming tide on Plum Island
While blew a wild February spray,
And always my thoughts return to
What Is the real truth…? Some people say the
Universe is explained in the esoteric
Equations of mathematics, while others claim
The answer lies simply in the faith of
The world’s major religions, their ancient
Tenets long-entrenched in our minds by
Rote learning and fiat…But every
Once in a while I see something in
Nature which is as rational as any higher
Explanation…And thus spoke to me a
Pennsylvania blue poppy, caught in the act of
An explosion of Beauty, and whispering
With the authority of an ever-expanding bloom —
Hopefully mercifully on its way to my
Perception of somewhere…
Leo Carroll
May 9, 2020
In perfect Beauty,
As if giving birth from the womb in
The Creator’s amniotic choice of heavenly-blue,
An effusion of stardust is caught
Beginning its eternal journey
To the undefined reaches of
Somewhere, shot from the muzzle
Of a blue poppy and giving an
Alter-story to the Creation
Saga in Genesis, and also portraying the
Big Bang as more gentle than the
Sterile hardness of mathematics,
But more like the softness found in the
Underbelly of nature, as seen
In the silent authority of a flower
Speaking without fear.
Morrill
Click for meditationRegarding "Morrill"
Every autumn for 21 years,
I went up to a cabin in the woods of
Morrill, Maine. It was a wonderful
Experience which I will never
Forget, and it is where I wrote scores
And scores of some of my
Favorite poetry. Seven years ago I
Took a sabbatical from going up,
But every fall I continued to
Feel the pull of the spiritual
Silence and majesty of those Maine
Woods. This autumn, after
My seven year hiatus, I
Returned for several nights
To those woods. It seemed a little
Strange for me, because
Although the woods appeared
Essentially the same, they
Did appear to have changed in
Subtle ways. It is hard
To explain. The more I have
Thought about this,
Though, the more I have
Come to realize that the true
Changes and differences
Were with me, and not the
Woods, and this is the theme of
All the poetry I wrote
While I was just up there. The
Poems try to put their
Finger on “something,” and the
“Something” is that the
Twenty one straight years
Were a distinct, unique period
In time, and performed a
Specific role in my life’s
Journey, and thus, when the
Woods and I saw each
Other again, we each took a
“Double-take” at each
Other – in pause and in
Shock – and I realized the truth
Of Thomas Wolfe’s saying,
“You can’t go home again,” and
Find either home and/or
Yourself the way things
Once were…
Leo Carroll
December 2, 2019
Ode to Morrill
You watch, waiting in
Silence, as if expecting I might
Have something to say, while I, in turn,
Watch you, thinking your
Branches to be both changed
And unchanged, your faces the same
Tho’ not the same…
Woods
Gray came up’n me,
Cold whipped the trunks of my soul,
Wind beat about me, and the
Woods whispered that “old” had crept
Into my snowy bones.
Moment
Still no movement, silence
Has even stopped…branches which are
Bent remain bent…branches
Which are straight guide my gaze
To their tops…
But then something flies
Chirping, and I would describe it if I
Could, but its feathers are
Too far away, and so I resume my
Autumn mood…
O, Angel of God
“O, Angel of God, my guardian dear…,”
And thus I begin my catechism’s
Childhood prayer, and then
In the silence, a distinct silence
Cold and white, a chorus rises up,
And chickadees alight…
Calling Out
“Where are you, Memory,
Where can I find you in the midst
Of this snowy field lying in
My mind and up’n this ground…?
Everything looks the same,
But my mind tells me
Something has changed…!”
Requiem
I returned to these woods to
Re-walk and live my old memories, and
Found some of them moved and
Wondered to where they
Might be keeping…?
And so I mused aloud,
“Is there not anything here
I can depend?!”
And then all my old
Haunts and shadows looked
O’er at me, and I knew
I had crossed the
Threshold to an e’er
Approaching requiem.